A/N: Hello everyone!

Just a heads up… I will be walking the Camino Frances in a few weeks and unfortunately will not be able to update while on the trek. It's almost 900 kilometers! Wow. I'm both excited and daunted! I hope to give you all a few more updates before I head off and I'll make sure to keep you informed about which chapter is the last before the break. Please don't be worried. I will finish this fic. I have all the chapters (for part one) planned out so it's just a matter of writing them!

I'd like to give a shoutout to my beta, dracoterrae9099, for her wonderful help and also a shoutout to one of my lovely readers on AO3, Dovikkare, who has been commenting on every chapter :) Thank you!

Chapter Seven:

Falling Apart, Falling Back Together

This was all you, none of it me
You put your hands all over my body and told me
You told me you were ready
For the big one, for the big jump
I'd be your last love everlasting you and me
That was what you told me

Send my love to your new lover
Treat her better
We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts
We both know we ain't kids no more
Send My Love - Adele

"That's it?" Anya's face was a mixture of disbelief and frustration, an expression that was quickly becoming common for her. Lexa sighed, noting this, but continued backing down the hall towards the closed door of the class to which she was already five minutes late.

"Babe, it's…" Lexa checked her watch just to be sure, "11:06, which makes me six minutes late for class. Whatever it is that we need to talk about can wait. I'll find you afterwards, okay?" Lexa reassured the older girl, her sentence hurried and half-finished by the time she pushed through the classroom door with her shoulder. The room hushed as she entered and Professor Griffin gave her an overstated eyebrow raise at her tardiness. Lexa, cool as ever, bowed forward, her lips slightly upturned into a half smile; the gesture fronted respect while hinting at a deeper level of subversion. It was something of a speciality of hers.

Truthfully, she hated being late, but it was a necessary evil this morning. Bellamy had been acting weird ever since detention this past weekend and wouldn't tell Lexa the cause. She had caught him zoning out during multiple conversations and whenever she called him on it, his immediate response was to clear his throat and pretend he wasn't blushing. It was very curious. No doubt it had something to do with a girl. Women are the heart of any problem and its solution, Lexa thought sagely as she took an empty seat towards the back of the room. When she had probed Bellamy about the situation further, he had merely scoffed and offered with forced blitheness, "We're just friends."

Bellamy doth protest too much, methinks, Lexa smirked sardonically to herself, organizing her materials onto the desk in front of her. But the smile was short lived. Here she was analyzing his love life while her own was in dire need of some attention. Although she was loathe to admit it, Lexa had been avoiding Anya a bit. None of it was intentional. It wasn't like she woke up today and thought, 'Yeah, I'm going to skip breakfast with my girlfriend to berate my best friend and have both be mad at me.' No, of course she hadn't wanted that result; however, there was a nagging weight in the pit of her stomach when she thought about Anya or their relationship.

Lexa had never dated anyone for this long before. Soon they'll have been dating for over a year and that meant things would be getting more serious. She didn't have a problem with monogamy, but there were certain expectations of intimacy and openness that accompanied a long-term relationship. Every time they were together Lexa felt the impending change in their relationship like a freight train collision that she just couldn't seem to stop.

"...it's not the monkswood that will cause the potion to turn blue, but the combination of it with the belladonna mixed at precisely the same time." Professor Griffin's measured voice drew Lexa from her reverie. Looking around she saw that the other students had already begun brewing a potion… and she hadn't even pulled out her cauldron yet. It was going to be one hell of a class.

"Mr. Jordan, kindly tend to your own potion instead of to Ms. Reyes' ears," the professor's stern reprimand carried to the other side of the room, accompanied by the soft sniggers of a few students.

Raven, for once in her life, was glad of the additional scrutiny. Instead of continuing to chew her out, Jasper turned a cocky grin to the rest of the class, as if he had just received an award instead of an admonishment. Then again, annoying professors was his favorite sport. Raven still couldn't piece together how Jasper had landed himself in Ravenclaw; the skinny, charismatic boy always seemed like more of a Hufflepuff to her.

"Don't think you're off the hook, Reyes," Jasper whispered out of the corner of his mouth, still waving his hand amiably at the class even though most had already turned their attention away. Raven groaned, her blissful reprieve painfully cut short.

"Just leave it, okay?" she said, chopping the belladonna root coarsely as instructed. "It's my life anyways."

"Sure, it is, but I'm your friend and as your friend it's my duty to tell you when you're making a huge mistake."

"Please," Raven's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "don't hold back. Tell me how you're really feel."

Jasper held up his fingers sequentially, " Number one, Roan is a tool. Two, you just got out of a serious relationship. Three, Roan is a tool. Four, Roan is a tool. Seriously. He's not even the brightest one in the shed. Five, don't you want to think about this? Maybe you need more time? Time? Time..." He repeated the last word quietly, gesturing out at a metaphorical horizon and then looking at her as if she was supposed to share in this eureka moment.

Raven rolled her eyes, "It's just lunch, Jasper. Nothing serious. Not even a date, really. When did it become a crime to have lunch with a guy? I guess that means we can't hang out anymore… Too bad!" She gave him an apologetic shrug.

"Ahem," Professor Griffin cleared her throat in passing, giving Raven another momentary reprieve.

"I see what you did there, but I still think I have a point," he continued in that boyishly confident way as soon as the professor had reached a safe distance. Why was he pushing this?

"You see, I think-" He leaned over to whisper in her ear and bumped her shoulder at the precise moment Raven was adding the belladonna and monkswood to her potion. The monkswood flew out of her hand, while the belladonna fell with a soft plop into the bubbling liquid. It turned a fluorescent pink.

"Jasper! Damn it!" Raven fumed, fumbling to grab the rogue monkswood. "Look what you made me do. Ugh, I hate Potions. There's no sense, no logic, no wiring, no circuitry."

"Hey, hey," Jasper took the monkswood from her. "Scooch over. I'll fix it. It's just chemistry." He winked at her, unfazed. He picked up a few more leaves of monkswood than the instructions called for and the rest of the chopped belladonna; scattering both into the cauldron, he slowly stirred in a figure eight formation. The potion turned a light blue as the clock on the wall chimed, signaling the end of class. Jasper's own potion was still a solid violet.

"Well done, Ms. Reyes," Professor Griffin gave her an appreciative smile. "Mr. Jordan, your potion skills might improve if you spent less time talking in class."

"Duly noted, Doc," Jasper saluted, only deepening the frown in the professor's forehead. Raven flicked her wand to clear the contents of their desks and then headed out the door with Jasper in tow.

"You didn't have to do that," Raven said glumly, still partly annoyed at him for his pestering, but mostly annoyed at needing help.

"You can thank me with a game of Exploding Snaps after your non-date date."

The two walked off, waving a short 'hello' to Octavia as they passed her in the hallway. The younger Blake gave a delayed greeting back, preoccupied by her current mission: don't throw up.

Octavia slowed her steps; the last thing she wanted to do was arrive early. In spite of her cool exterior, she was a riot of nerves on the inside. She'd received a letter yesterday from Professor Griffin that had read: Ms. Blake, We should discuss your handling of Lincoln's tutelage. Please come to the dungeons tomorrow between 3rd and 4th period. - A. Griffin.

The twenty-four hours since receiving the letter had been a confusing blur, her emotions oscillating between panic and frustration. Somehow, Professor Griffin had found out about that kiss… that stupid, wonderful kiss. If Lincoln had been the one to tell her, Octavia would be mortified and outraged by how poorly she had read the situation. How could she possibly have thought there was a chance with him? If not… well that was almost worse. It would make her thoughtless action the very thing that might penalize him, despite his innocence. Either way, someone was going to be in trouble and Octavia couldn't keep her stomach from performing acrobatics. In ten steps she would reach the door to the classroom and there would be no turning back. Five steps. Four. Three. Two. One.

"Close the door, Ms. Blake," Professor Griffin's voice ordered before she had even crossed the threshold. Lord, have mercy on my soul. Octavia turned around slowly, catching the door with her hand and pulling it shut with a resounding thud.

Lincoln already stood beside the front desk, his back turned to her, his posture stiff and resolute. If only she had been able to talk to him after the incident. Why didn't she spend more time looking for him? Because you were embarrassed, you fool. Stop freaking out. Calm down. Don't say anything until asked. Octavia pressed her lips into a firm line as she reached the front of the room, taking a place to the right of Lincoln. She left a solid four feet between them for good measure. Professor Griffin peered up at them from where she sat behind the desk, her keen eyes shifting back and forth between the pair.

"Well?" She raised her eyebrows cooley. "Who is going to speak first? Hmmmm, I suppose I should have done this separately. Spoken with each of you individually, I mean. I might have received a more honest answer. No matter, Ms. Blake, progress report please. Do you feel that you are improving under Lincoln's guidance?"

"What?" Octavia couldn't believe her ears. Progress report. This had nothing to do with her humiliatingly naive behavior? She glanced quickly at Lincoln, but his face was as stoic as ever.

"Do you feel that tutoring has helped with your Potions acumen?"

"Umm, yes. Yes," Octavia repeated the second affirmation with more confidence, still shocked by the turn of events. This was not the conversation she had been expecting. Sweet relief flooded her so quickly she felt her head spin. Octavia pinched her forearm behind her back to stay focused on the scene before her. Professor Griffin looked at her expectantly, perhaps waiting for a more complete answer. Octavia didn't have one, her throat felt extraordinary thick and dry all of a sudden.

"Lincoln?" Professor Griffin turned her sharp attention onto the taller figure in the room. Octavia held her breath.

"She is doing extremely well, professor. Octavia has improved a great deal in both Potions theory and vocabulary and soon we will begin practical application so that she has more 'hands on' experience with O.W.L. level potions."

"Excellent," Professor Griffin clapped her hands together, smiling. "I expect to see these improvements in class, Ms. Blake."

"Of course, professor," Octavia spoke quickly, finding her voice.

"Very well, it seems you need little guidance from me. Carry on," she shooed them away, dismissing the pair effectively.

Octavia felt like she was floating as she walked out of the classroom. Lincoln hadn't told Professor Griffin about the kiss and, on top of that, he'd spoken highly of her improvement. It was an exaggeration, of course. She was not sure why he had said it. Perhaps he simply wanted to spare himself the embarrassment of a wily student… Octavia looked up to see that Lincoln stood only a few steps ahead of her in the hallway. Was he waiting for her?

"Thank you," she said, clearing her throat; she found it hard to meet his gaze, embarrassment at their last interaction and his firm rejection swelled up. Swallowing, Octavia forced it down and stared him steadily in the eyes. She was a Blake and Blakes didn't back down from anything.

"Don't thank me, Octavia. I lied. We both know that. Now you have to make sure it becomes true. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. 4 p.m., sharp. The usual table in the library." He was off before she even had a chance to take another breath. As Octavia watched him leave, she squashed any feelings she had for him. All right. Enough. For both of their sakes, it had to be done. He had made it clear that he wasn't interested and she deserved better than to torture herself over it. Enough. If he was willing to still teach her, she was going to be the best damn student possible.

Filled with new resolve, Octavia walked purposefully towards the library. If she hurried, she would have time to write a few pages of notes before lunch. In her consuming determination, she didn't hear the raised voices coming from an old, disused classroom as she passed. She kept walking oblivious to the argument occurring on the inside.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Anya," Lexa repeated the same words for the fourth time since their conversation began, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward of the impending migraine.

Anya growled in frustration. "I don't want you to say anything! I want you to have something to say! This isn't- I'm not just going to go away if you stay silent."

"I know that," Lexa snapped, her head starting to pound. They had been in this classroom since the end of third period. Lexa had already missed most of her fourth period class and was now watching the slow combustion of her relationship, feeling like a spectator to this match rather than an opponent.

"All I am asking for is a little more of your time and you're looking at me like I have antlers growing out of my head!"

"That must be frustrating," Lexa closed her eyes; she couldn't think, her head was pounding.

Anya made an angry sound that was halfway between a scream and a shout, "That's it?"

"I'm not purposefully avoiding you, Anya. It's school, it's fucking busy. We have shit to do and we are in different houses. It's impossible to see each other all the time."

"Really? You seem to have plenty of time for Bellamy," the older girl laughed sharply, her eyes hard.

"We're in the same house," Lexa said, lamely. Why couldn't she find more emotion? This was the time for it, but all she could feel was the painful pounding in her head.

"Bullshit, Lex."

"I don't know what you want me to say." Five times.

"I just want you to make an effort instead of sitting here with your fucking eyes closed."

Lexa opened her eyes, "My head hurts." Thud. Thud. Thud. The pressure in her head was growing, an incessant beat pounding against her skull.

"Does it? Well, my fucking heart hurts Lexa. You're ripping it apart."

"I'm sorry." Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Are you?"

"Yes." Thud. Thud.

"I need more."

"I know." Thud.

"I love you."

"I know." There was a long, pregnant pause. Lexa didn't have to look up to know she had said the wrong thing or to see the wounded expression on Anya's face. But she did, her green eyes meeting wide brown ones.

"You-" Anya began.

"I need a break. I can't do this anymore," Lexa spoke tiredly, finally expressing what she needed even though she knew it wasn't what Anya wanted to hear.

"Fine," Anya snapped, her tone biting, and she stormed out the door. Lexa was fairly sure there were tears in Anya's eyes as she brushed past, but the Gryffindor was not certain, so she chose to believe the opposite. The quiet was blissful, minimally retarding the approaching migraine. She just couldn't take it anymore, the shouting, the intensity, the profession of love; it was too much, more than she wanted. Take care of yourself, no one else will... the voice in her head echoed, repeating the phrase she had told herself many times throughout the years.

Sighing heavily, she got up and walked slowly towards the Hospital Wing. She didn't know what excuse she would have to give for some migraine medicine, but she didn't care. She would say anything right now to make the pounding in her head cease. Doubt and regret tried to crawl their way into her mind, but there was not enough room for them. She would think about it tomorrow, or as soon as this insufferable headache disappeared.

Raven almost ran into Lexa as she came around the corridor on her way outside, but the girl barely even gave her a second glance. Well, excuse me, Raven raised her eyebrows at the Gryffindor, but for once Lexa didn't engage, she simply sidestepped past Raven without comment or apology. The dark brunette renewed her quick footsteps heading towards the castle grounds.

Roan had cryptically asked her to meet him near the Great Lake at lunchtime, but hadn't said anything else. She'd been on the fence this morning and had already decided not to go, but then Jasper had been so pushy. Raven could make her own damn decisions; now here she was, heading down the steps onto the lawn, not because Roan had asked her to come or because Jasper had told her not to, but because she was not a quitter.

Sure, she felt a little embarrassed about the PDA last weekend - by now the whole school knew about how 'Reyes jumped Azgedha' - but it was ridiculous to fixate on it. Raven had gotten exactly what she wanted: a distraction. People were talking about her and Roan now and no longer asking, 'What happened with Finn?' Finally.

She was tired of giving that noncommittal shrug and, 'It didn't work out,' or, 'We're just too different,' or, 'We're better as friends.' No matter which vague answer Raven gave, it always led to more questions, 'Don't you live with his family?' or, 'Wow, but you were together for like three years,' or, 'Oh no, I really thought you two would make it.' Yeah, thanks for the reminder, assholes.

None of her close friends asked about it, thankfully, but the first month of term had been like an obstacle course of classmates and random acquaintances asking personal questions. 'How was your summer?' Great. 'Did you do anything fun?' No. 'Are you still dating Finn?' No. 'Oh no, what happened?' None of your damn business. The worst was when a fourth or fifth year girl, obviously crushing on Finn, would come up to ask about it. 'I heard you and Finn broke up, is that true?' was code for 'Is your boyfriend single now, because I'd really like to bone him!' Thanks for asking! Go right ahead!

The morning after the lake stint with Roan had been like finally waking up from a nightmare. No one mentioned Finn's name once; it was magnificent and she was more than happy to keep it going.

"Hey!" Roan waved, jogging up to her, "You made it."

"Hey," she threw back as he approached. "So, what are we doing here?"

"It's a surprise. Come on," he grinned at her dubious expression and led her to a large tree further down the lakeshore. Under the tree was a red-and-white picnic blanket, sporting a wicker basket and some flowers. Raven felt her face turn red as she took in the scene. Oh my god.

"Uh," she said lamely, trying to gather the fragments of her mind that had suddenly scattered. This was not at all what she had been expecting. The total of their interactions to date consisted of passing in the hallway, one unintentional almost-hook up, one argument, and one intentional kiss. It wasn't exactly gold standard.

"Is it too much?" Roan asked, laughing at himself good naturedly.

"A little," Raven admitted, still blushing. "It's nice though!"

"Here, sit down," he gave her a hand, a perfect gentleman. Raven cleared her throat, uncomfortably; she didn't know what to do or say, suddenly overwhelmed by the sincerity of this gesture.

"This wasn't what I was expecting," she said, glancing at the yellow daffodils.

"Oh?" Roan's blue eyes twinkled, "What were you expecting, exactly?"

"I don't know… a quickie by the lake," she said brazenly, shrugging. Hey, it never hurts to be honest.

He threw his head back, roaring with laughter, "I guess, I deserve that. Well, I'm happy to have surprised you." Raven breathed out, watching his delighted expression and suddenly feeling guilty about how she had wanted to use him.

"Just to be clear, I'm not interesting in anything serious," the words were out of her mouth before she realized she had said them. Good job, Reyes. Way to ease into it.

"Okay," Roan shrugged casually.

"Great."

"Alright." There was an awkward pause and Raven pressed her lips together.

"So," she started. "What does a girl have to do to get something to eat around here?"

"The food is free," Roan took out some ham sandwiches from the hamper, "but the company is priceless." He winked at her.

"You're too much," Raven chuckled, shaking her head.

"And you are exceptionally pretty when you blush."

"I might actually die of overload if you keep laying it on this thick," Raven gestured around at the picnic blanket and flowers with her sandwich-free hand. "I don't really do cute."

"Imafa nod addat," he mumbled through a big mouthful of sandwich.

"What?"

He swallowed, "I'll make a note of that."

"Good," she smiled and took bite of sandwich, noting for the second time how strange this all felt. Good strange, though. Don't overthink, Reyes. Just enjoy it.

A good distance away from the pair, strode a third figure, heading with silent determination towards the Forbidden Forest. Bellamy moved with practiced ease; he didn't once look over his shoulder, as if an afternoon stroll amid the trees was simply part of his daily routine. This was all a show, of course; students, as a rule, didn't enter the forest alone, but Bellamy had never been one for rules, unless they were of his own making. However, his mission was of an entirely separate nature.

Since detention last weekend, he hadn't been able to get the cave out of his mind… or Clarke for that matter. His memory of the underground cavern had distracted his focus in classes. It had crept its way into his dreams, so much so that he was no longer sure if it was real or simply a figment of his overactive mind.

Clarke's cool demeanor had returned almost immediately after detention, or perhaps it had never left? 'Friends?' she had asked after he pulled her from the pit. No, he must have dreamed that too. The only thing that assured him of its reality was the dull ache in his shoulders the next day and the memory of her soft, warm skin held tight beneath his calloused fingers. Still, he had to be sure.

Bellamy shook himself free of the recurrent thoughts that were plaguing his mind as he walked swiftly into the dark forest, the sun becoming just a distant memory. He chose from the many paths that wound their way through the underbrush, following the trail of fallen murdock. Fledgling sprouts grew from brown bases, reminding Bellamy of nature's resilience, a magic beyond even the comprehension of wizards. The eerie quiet crept behind him, clinging to the very earth beneath his feet.

He shivered involuntarily and then laughed, a laugh full of forced bravado. I'm not afraid. It's just a forest, just a magical, dangerous forest. Nothing to fear. Still, Bellamy quickened his steps as a sense of unease stole over him. Perhaps it was because he was alone or because he was filled with so many unanswered questions, but the silence of the forest seemed to stare back at him with sinister intent. He paused, gauging the distance, then veered off of the path. This part of the forest looked familiar.

After a hundred yards his suspicions were verified as he identified another murdock felled by his and Clarke's hands. Just a little further, he reckoned, trudging forward through the tall bracken. A minute more and Bellamy found himself once again on the brink of the blackthorn grove.

Triumph flooded him, sweet and sharp. It wasn't a dream. This was the grove where he and Clarke had found the cave. She had fallen, but he had caught her. She had asked if they could be friends. He had said 'yes.' Yes.

Bellamy glanced at the blackthorn tree dominating the center of the grove, half expecting some premonition to steal over him, but nothing happened. The blackthorn stood resolute and serious, its branches stark against the bright, uncovered sky.

Smiling, Bellamy began to turn back towards the castle, but something on the ground caught his eye. The entrance to the cave was uncovered, despite the fact that Bellamy and Clarke had replaced all of the foliage over the tunnel in the soil. Had someone else found it? Perhaps they hadn't covered it as well as they had thought. He crept forward, wand raised. It could just be an animal, he reasoned with himself. Still, his wand remained aloft as he descended the hard earthen steps.

Soft light spilled onto the bottom step. Bellamy stopped. Someone else was here. His heart began to hammer in his chest. Recklessly, he stepped out into the cavernous room, needing to see whose wand the light belonged to. Flaxen hair glinted for a moment before Clarke's sharp blue eyes met his, freezing him in his tracks.

"Oh, it's you," she said, before turning back to stare at the wall from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. 'Oh, it's you.' Is that a good thing?

"Hey," Bellamy's deep voice sounded loud in his own ears, echoing off the rock walls, but devoid of the surprise swirling within him. "What are you doing here?"

She glanced back at him, where he still stood by the mouth of the cave, "Same as you, I suppose. This place is fascinating. I've never seen anything like it."

"Yeah," Bellamy agreed, not about to correct her. The cave was only part of his motivation for coming out here. Bellamy regained control of his body and came to settle down beside her. A notebook was cracked open in her lap, riddled with half-scribbled runes copied from the walls that surrounded them. She had been busy. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

"That depends," she bit her lip, scratching another couple of runes into the pages of her notebook. There was a pause and Bellamy wondered whether she had forgotten that he was even there or that she was in the middle of a sentence. Eventually she looked up at him, wisps of hair falling lightly over her face, "What time is it now?"

"Probably half past two o'clock," he said, his eyes following the quick dance of her quill across the parchment. He stared at her as one might stare at a wild creature, a mixture of awe, appreciation, and trepidation. Clarke was different than any other girl at Hogwarts. She handled everything with the confidence of an age she did not possess and a beautiful arrogance that was both quick and sharp and then suddenly humble and unassuming.

But there was something else which drew Bellamy to her, something he could not name no matter how his conscious mind tried. A sadness clung to her, hollowing her cold, brittle exterior when no one was watching. Bellamy saw the shadow of trauma which lingered behind her in the same way that he felt it stalk through his dreams. He wondered whether Clarke could see thestrals like he could.

The quill fell still against the parchment, leaving a lull in its soft melody. Why had she stopped writing? Bellamy looked up to find her watching him, her gaze steady and questioning with a hint of annoyance.

"Here," she ripped out a sheet of paper and tossed it at him along with a second quill. She placed the previously hidden jar of ink between the pair of them. When he didn't move to grab the utensils, she spurred him, saying, "It's for writing... You know, 'My name is Bellamy Blake'? That sort of thing." She pretended to write in the air, raising her eyebrows at him; her voice held that quick sarcasm, which was familiar territory for him.

"Really? That's funny. We have the same name," he grinned widely, picking up the parchment and quill.

"Ha ha, just help me write down these runes."

It was easier said than done. Some runes were clear as day against the illuminated walls, while others were faded beyond recognition. Even the legible ones were nothing like what Professor Wallace taught in Ancient Runes. These symbols contained more curved edges, intricate knots, and small tails; they overlapped so much that it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. They worked in silence, which might have bothered some, but for Bellamy felt comfortable and easy.

After what must have been two hours, Bellamy finally threw down his quill, flexing his cramping right hand. The dirt floor was scattered with a semi-circle of numbered pages.

"Any idea what it says?" he asked. Clarke leant forward over the parchment strewn before them and, as she did, soft blonde tendrils of hair fell to frame her face. His fingers itched to brush the hair back. Bellamy swallowed and picked up a stray rock on the floor instead.

"Some of the runes look familiar. They must be forms that pre-date the runic alphabet we study today, but…" she trailed off, shaking her head. They had only copied down maybe half of the writing on the wall.

Clarke stretched her arms overhead, sighing as her wrists made satisfying pops. Her shoulders ached from bending over for so long, but it was a good kind of ache. It made her feel productive. Her brows furrowed in mild amusement as she watched the round stone slip between Bellamy's long fingers.

"If anyone can translate this, it'll be Professor Wallace," he suggested with a nod towards the scraps of scrippled parchment. Clarke smirked. She had already thought of that.

"I actually mentioned it to him after class this morning. Not the cave, of course. Just the runes. He seemed eager to help."

"Do you think we should tell someone that we found this place? I mean it is on school proper-"

"No." Clarke's voice was sharp, but she softened it quickly, startled by her own determination. Her heart felt like it wanted to beat out of her throat at the thought of revealing the cave. She couldn't explain the feeling even if she tried. "I mean, don't you want to figure out what this place is? These runes mean something and I intend to find out what. You know that as soon as we tell a teacher, they won't allow us back here. Plus, I don't want anyone else taking the credit; I almost broke both of my legs finding this place."

He snorted, "You're such a Slytherin."

"And?"

"And nothing. You're a Slytherin. I'm a Gryffindor," he shrugged, as if that explained everything. It was infuriating.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Clarke asked, blank faced. "Right now you're making about as much sense as these runes."

"Nevermind," Bellamy shook his head, his expression unreadable. It annoyed Clarke that she couldn't read him. Most people were a piece of cake for her, but Bellamy… well, he was goofy and boyish one minute than pensive and brooding the next and sometimes a freaking wall of stoic equanimity.

The only thing Clarke had been able to figure out was that his ambivalence had a fairly short tether which broke easily when his emotions were provoked. Not that she had been thinking about him very much. Sure, she had mulled over their last interaction, but only because she herself had acted so strange. No, that wasn't right. She had acted so normal. She had even asked if he wanted to be friends. Clarke didn't have friends, not anymore. It was like for a brief moment all the bullshit had been suspended and she had forgotten how much pain she was in, but it wasn't because of Bellamy. No, Clarke admitted to herself. It's this cave.

There was something magnetic about the cave despite the fact that it was dark and damp. She had dreamt about it every night this week. Always the same dream: the underground world was slowly illuminated as she found herself on its uneven, earthen floor. Her head pounded fiercely, a thrumming pulse that seemed to fill the glowing space around her, growing steadily until Clarke could not be sure whether the beat had originated from within her or from the very walls of the cave itself. The runes which danced upon the rock began to shine, more clearly defined than in the waking world. A shadowed hand on her shoulder. An intake of breath. A tremor down her spine. Before she could confront the dark figure behind her, Clarke always woke. And the cave was as distant as her passing dream.

"Clarke?" Bellamy's voice broke through her reverie and she suddenly became aware that she was staring at him and of the weight against her shoulder, where Bellamy's very real hand now rested. It was gone as soon as she became aware of it. Clarke fought the flush that crept upon her cheeks. Had she been staring at him this whole time? She wasn't even thinking about him. He doesn't know that, Griffin, a snide voice reminded her. Clarke cleared her throat and began to gather the loose sheets of parchment that littered the floor, being careful to keep them in order. It's this damn cave.

"We should go," she cleared her throat again.

Clarke felt Bellamy shift beside her as he helped to gather in the chaos around them. Reaching out for the last sheet of paper, Clarke's hand was suddenly trapped in searing warmth. Bellamy's own large brown hand was covering hers, the parchment trapped beneath them. Her mind went blank as she stared at their crossed limbs. Turning her head slightly, her gaze darted up to Bellamy's mahogany eyes. His face was much closer than she had anticipated, but even up close his expression was unreadable. His dark eyes seemed to go on for miles. Why wasn't he moving his hand? Did she want him to move his hand? Yes. No. God, she didn't know - she didn't know anything except that if she kept staring at him something inside of her was going to burn.

Shifting her eyes away should have relieved some of the tension, but instead her gaze caught on his parted lips and she was suddenly aware of how hot the room had become. It was stifling in here. Immediately Clarke was reminded of the last time she was this close to a boy, the last time she'd been staring at someone's lips. Warning signs started flashing in her head: Run. Run. Run. In an act of self preservation, Clarke ripped her hand free and eased back onto her heels. The room felt immediately cooler and her lungs filled with the sweet air she hadn't realized they were desperate for.

It had felt like an eternity for Clarke, but her hand had only been trapped for a matter of seconds. Seemingly unfazed by their brief contact, Bellamy picked up the lone sheet of parchment and, stacking it with the others, he handed her the pile.

"Friends?" His voice was deep and even, everything Clarke was not feeling. Friends? Was he echoing her words? Was he laying down a line between them? Clarke could have laughed out loud at her erratic thoughts. Lord, what is wrong with you? This cave is messing with your head. He's not even your type. He's too…. Clarke didn't even know how to finish that sentence.

"Yeah, friends," she nodded and then flashed a cavalier smile. "I thought we'd already established that."

"Right," he laughed, shrugging as if it was some great joke, his ambivalence still perfectly intact. Clarke got to her feet and brushed off her robes, feeling a little ridiculous. They were friends, or whatever form of that Clarke could still manage. There was no doubt in her mind that Bellamy usually went for a more… vivacious type of girl. Clarke herself couldn't even imagine… she hadn't even thought… It was laughable, really.

As the two left the cave behind, Clarke felt her shoulders ease and she found a comfortable rhythm walking alongside Bellamy. He seemed as interested in translating the runes as she did. It was nice to have something that wasn't school related to distract her and it didn't hurt that she had someone to share it with. Honestly, Clarke was warming up to Bellamy. His humor balanced her sarcasm and the banter was always heavy enough that they never got to anything too personal. Strangely enough, Clarke trusted that he wouldn't tell anyone about the cave and, as they reached the edge of the forest, she decided that Bellamy would be a good friend to have.

Dusk had fallen, casting long shadows onto the lawn from the trees overhead. Bellamy gave her a wave and jogged off, late for dinner with his sister. Clarke watched him leave, remembering his earlier words. You're a Slytherin. I'm a Gryffindor. It wasn't the first time she had heard someone talk like that. Emori and Murphy seemed to have an abhorrence for anyone outside of their house.

Clarke chose to skip dinner and instead headed down to the dungeons. She passed a few groups of students on their way to the Great Hall and was not surprised to notice that they traveled in cliques determined by house and even further by year. She wasn't used to this kind of voluntarily alienation. Everyone at Hogwarts was so caught up in these damn houses, even the teachers. Twenty points to Hufflepuff. Thirty points from Gryffindor. It was inane, really. They were all students. The petty politics and cliques were enough to make Clarke's head spin.

"Serpent's tongue," Clarke murmured distractedly when she reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Noise flickered along the dim passage and greeted her as she emerged into the lounge. She wasn't really in the mood for company, but her footsteps slowed as she took in who was sitting around the fire.

"Hey," she waved at the group. Murphy, Emori, Anya, Echo, and Ontari sat in a circle, a lethal looking bottle of amber liquid passing between them.

"Hey," Emori motioned Clarke over, patting an open seat beside her. Clarke sat down hesitantly and murmured a quiet 'thanks' as the bottle of liquor was handed to her.

"What are we celebrating?" she asked, taking a swig of the alcohol which turned out to be firewhiskey.

"The end of my relationship," Anya raised a glass full of amber liquid as if to make a toast.

"Shit," Clarke breathed out, "I didn't-"

"It's fine," Emori murmured under her breath.

"Yep, I'm a free agent." Anya said with forced enthusiasm and took a large gulp.

"To being a free agent," Echo raised her own glass in solidarity. The group parroted her and everyone drank.

"She was dating Bellamy's friend right?" Clarke asked Emori under her breath.

"I wouldn't say that name too loudly," Emori warned wryly. "You don't want to hear her go on about that mess and I definitely don't want to listen to it again."

"Okay," Clarke nodded, biting back the question still on her lips.

"To sloughing off dead weight that holds you back." Drink.

"To being a fucking Slytherin." Drink.

"To freedom." Drink.

Clarke lost count of the number of toasts as the room grew warm and her head began to buzz. The topics became increasingly vulgar and ended with most everyone laughing so hard they almost cried. Though Clarke couldn't be sure that the sheen in Anya's eyes was not real tears. The older girl still laughed with everyone else and her toasts were some of the most lewd.

As the hour grew late, everyone began to make their excuses. One by one they stumbled off to bed until it was only Clarke and Anya who sat before the fire. The mostly empty bottle of firewhiskey passed between them. Anya took a sip, her hand surprisingly steady, then handed the bottle to Clarke.

"Tell me something no one else knows," Anya said softly, her champagne eyes fixed on the fire in front of them.

Clarke stiffened, but only for a moment. The firewhiskey had warmed her belly and her mind was more at peace than it had been in a while. What was one thing shared between… friends? She took a sip.

"I can't sleep in the dark. I always leave a light on when I go to bed."

Anya nodded, taking in what Clarke had said. Silence shifted and then Anya admitted, "I knew this was coming - the break up I mean - I just had this feeling. I knew."

"I can't stand to be in the same room as my mother - you know how some people say they hate their parents, but it's really just a cry for help… well I'm terrified that I actually, truly hate her."

"You know those turkey pies that they always have in the great hall on Thursdays? I hate them. Lexa loved them and so I would eat them with her, but I fucking hate them."

"They're so dry!"

"Right? It's terrible!"

Clarke chuckled and stretched her legs out in front so that the fire warmed her toes through her woolen socks. Her body felt heavy and supple from the drink.

"You're really pretty when you smile," Anya sighed and took another sip of whiskey.

"Only when I smile, huh?" Clarke retorted, the words falling out of her mouth before she had even processed them.

Anya nudged Clarke's shoulder with her own. "Of course not, but when you smile…" the older girl's words trailed off and Clarke couldn't help but look to see what expression they had left on her face. Anya's eyes met hers and the warmth of the fire seemed to sparkle in them. They were so close; their shoulders pressed side by side as they leaned against the couch. Clarke's breath caught in her throat. Maybe it was the alcohol or the openness, but warmth flooded her body in a way that she hadn't felt in some time.

She gazed at the older girl; Anya's golden skin glowed in the soft light. Clarke had never been with a girl, she'd never been with anyone before Finn… or after. There had been a few flirtations with boys at Durmstrang over the years. Nothing had ever come of it. Then her dad had died and she just fell apart. She dove into Finn's arms without really thinking about it.

Now, with the warmth of the fire and the warmth in her bones, Clarke wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss Anya. From the look she was giving Clarke, Anya appeared to want the same thing, but…

"We… I… You're…" Clarke mumbled, her eyes not leaving those champagne orbs.

"Free agent, remember?" Anya cracked a smile and Clarke saw that they both were vulnerable in that moment, both barely healing, both still broken in different ways. What was wrong with finding some comfort in each other? Nothing.

Clarke's lips tugged a little and she leaned in to brush them across Anya's, hardly breathing. She pulled back and for a moment the brown in Anya's eyes deepened into a different, darker pair of eyes, but the image was gone as quickly as it arose and the only thing Clarke felt was the soft press of Anya's lips against her own and the taste of whiskey on her tongue.

A/N: Ahhh, don't kill me! I hope you can see where all the characters are coming from even if it is a bit of a shit storm at the moment. Leave a review and tell me what you think! Were you surprised? Until next time Xx